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“Will you stop that?” Yoongi grouches, glaring at where Namjoon is re-tying his hair for the tenth time.
Namjoon only makes a small dissatisfied noise. He's been growing his hair out on top, the sides still shaved short, but the hair tie keeps getting undone and then the strands end up in his face and tickling his nose.
So far, Yoongi had already called his man bun pretentious twice and rolled his eyes at it a whooping total of five times, but Jimin had said it made Namjoon look like a poet, so he doesn't mind too much.
He's over at their apartment, lounging on their couch and drinking wine. The cheese platter is long since empty, and the cat has fallen asleep on her pillow underneath the coffee table, but not without first having scratched Namjoon when he had tried to pet her.
It's good to be here, to just relax for an evening and properly catch up. That used to be so much easier to do when they all still lived together. Sometimes, you managed to not see each other for days at a time, but then you met in the kitchen and got stuck raiding the pantry and showing each other dumb videos on your phone.
Now, it's a bit more of an ordeal to catch some quality time outside of their work relationship. Their idol schedules are not as rigorous as they used to be - fewer concerts and shows, a little more sleep and downtime. But there are other obligations - their relationships, Seokjin's and Taehyung's acting jobs, Namjoon's duties at BigHit.
So it's easier in some ways, but more difficult in others. They are still a family, but even those are bound to grow up and grow apart as time goes on. But, in the end, it was the coming together that mattered.
Still, it's late.
Namjoon knows he should probably head home sometime soon; he hates driving at night. His own place is practically next to the studio and therefore not all that far away, but Jimin and Yoongi have been making eyes at each other for a while now and he doesn't want to overstay his welcome.
He is about to say as much, throwing a look at his wrist watch and then glancing up again, when he is faced with a sight that he has grown all too familiar with over the past few months, considering with how handsy the newlyweds have been around each other.
Somehow, that doesn't make it less awkward.
And it's not so much the gay thing as the fact that there is something deeply uncomfortable about seeing two people be so intimate with each other. Porn is one thing but being in the same room just makes him feel like the third wheel. Like a voyeur.
Jimin's got his leg thrown over Yoongi's lap, cuddled up against his side, and Yoongi scrunches his nose up when Jimin gets closer, a silly face that belies how comfortable they are around each other, how not every moment has to be meaningful and breathtaking.
They kiss, a little more wetly than is strictly suitable in the presence of someone else, but Namjoon blames it on the alcohol and doesn't complain, just lets his gaze drop down to his feet, as though his socks were particularly interesting.
When the sounds of kissing stop, he looks up again. One of Yoongi's hands is high up on Jimin's thigh, the thumb rubbing circles through the jeans; but it's the curl of Jimin's mouth that gives away how he is the one who's getting what he wants.
“So,” Namjoon says, his wine-soaked tongue unexpectedly curious and his brain too slow to keep it in check. “Sex. What's that like between you two?”
It's not that he has thought about it in depth. But, with Yoongi's previous aversion to the whole spectrum of Relationships, he cannot help but wonder.
There had been so many incidents in the past months that had clued him in that Yoongi is, by now, more than enthusiastic about what two people can do together. There'd been that very first selfie they sent, of the two of them naked and kissing in bed. Then whatever they had done in the car that had taken them to Seokjin's movie premiere. Not to mention the impromptu lap dance at their wedding...
Okay, so maybe Namjoon has thought about it a little. But only because the two are so very blatant.
Now, Jimin and Yoongi exchange an amused look.
“'s pretty easy,” Yoongi drawls, his arm still slung around Jimin's waist. He's not drunk but relaxed and a little flushed. “Why, you wanna watch?”
Namjoon snorts into his glass, thankful he doesn't accidentally spit out any wine. Jimin, in turn, giggles and presses his nose against Yoongi's cheek. His gaze, however, is fixed on Namjoon.
The clock above the door strikes three.
A sudden weight settles in the pit of Namjoon's stomach. He makes an ordeal of leaning over and setting his empty glass down on the table, but then regrets it immediately because now his hands start fidgeting. The room is very warm; he tugs at his collar.
“Joon-ah,” Jimin says. His voice is teasing, but not... not in ridicule. Just playful. Sweet. “Do you want to watch?”
“I, uh,” Namjoon says intelligently. “What?”
“Jiminie,” Yoongi warns. It doesn't sound like he is offended, though. Just cautious.
For a moment, Jimin looks between the two of them. Then he slides off Yoongi and nudges him gently.
“Go kiss him,” he tells Yoongi, as though it were no big deal, and Namjoon would take it for a joke, would toss his head back and laugh out loud.
Except. Except Yoongi actually stands up, shuffles on the spot and then toward where Namjoon is sitting on the sofa.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says slowly. Like this, Yoongi is taller than him and he has to tilt his head back to properly look at him.
Yoongi, in turn, is frowning down at him, as though contemplating whether he should really do this, whether he wants to do this, and Namjoon opens his mouth to tell him that he really doesn't have to, that this is a silly idea anyway and they'll just forget all about it.
Only then Yoongi's lips are on his, tasting of red wine, and this is not exactly how Namjoon had seen his night going, but his eyes fall shut and his mouth opens and he's not exactly saying no.
It's not his first time kissing a guy. He was a teenager once and a trainee and not picky enough to turn the opportunity down when it arose. But this is different. Because he is kissing his best friend as his best friend's husband watches them from just a meter away, and that thought makes Namjoon jerk his head back, blinking hard.
“Um,” he says, more eloquent than he feels.
Yoongi, however, looks at him with a kind of dry patience, not stony as such but as though keeping himself from influencing Namjoon's opinion. Absurdly, Namjoon finds himself reminded of all the times Yoongi has shown him a demo tape, sitting in silence and just letting the sample speak for itself.
Namjoon swallows, chances a glance over to the side. Jimin, he notes, has his lower lip caught between his teeth and, unlike Yoongi, he is obviously eager to see how this might continue.
When Namjoon's eyes return to Yoongi, the two of them just look at each other, making sure that there are really no misunderstandings. That's the beauty about a friendship such as theirs – the trust, the non-verbal communication, the mutual agreement to never speak of this again should things go awry.
So, with another deep breath, Namjoon gives a curt nod. He tries not to tense when Yoongi unceremoniously just climbs on top of him to kneel above his lap, his hands on Namjoon's shoulders to steady himself. Almost out of reflex, Namjoon's own hands come up to settle on Yoongi's hips, feeling his warmth through the thin layer of his shirt. A moment later, Yoongi's fingers clamber up to run over the shaved hair at the back of Namjoon's head.
“Don't,” Namjoon warns, when he feels Yoongi teasingly pluck at the hair tie, and Yoongi snorts a little, scrunches up his nose in a mocking sneer, and so Namjoon decides to preemptively shut him up.
If he had thought that initiating their second kiss would give him the upper hand, though, he is mistaken.
Yoongi is a good kisser, and Namjoon doesn't know why that surprises him. So many people just dive right in, but Yoongi goes slow, as though watching his steps along the way, not timid, but like a steady climb.
Namjoon would worry, perhaps, that Yoongi – who had previously been so reluctant to let someone in his heart or his bed – so easily agreed to this, would worry whether he felt somehow pressured to fulfill one of Jimin's fantasies out of fear of disappointing him somehow. But that is not what this feels like.
Yoongi knows what he is doing and, what's more than that, it feels like he wants to do it, too.
Namjoon thinks this and then has to suppress a chuckle when Yoongi grinds against his thigh, the outline of his cock just barely felt.
This is probably the moment where Namjoon should freak out, at least minimally, but he doesn't, just catalogues the other, more subtle signs that remind him of how this is very much not a woman in his lap. The sharper smell of men's deodorant. A hint of stubble. The bob of an Adam's apple as he mouths along the pale neck.
He's tempted to leave a hickey, just to annoy Yoongi, but they have a photoshoot in the afternoon, and the stylists already give them shit whenever they have to camouflage any suspicious bruises.
“Jiminie's watching us,” he whispers instead, before pressing the flat of his tongue against Yoongi's pulse.
“I figured,” Yoongi retorts wryly, but his little shudder belies that perhaps he is not quite as unaffected as he would like to appear.
From where he is looking over Yoongi's shoulder, Namjoon can see how Jimin is literally on the edge of his seat, hands covering his giddy smile, eyes positively glowing.
They must be quite the sight, Namjoon thinks idly.
With that thought, Namjoon puts his hands underneath Yoongi's thighs and stands up. It's a bit of a struggle because Namjoon is not exactly a bodybuilder, and because Yoongi immediately squawks and jerks in his hold, before quickly locking his arms behind Namjoon's neck.
“You asshole,” he growls and Namjoon cannot help but laugh before setting him down on the floor. His hands, however, settle on the slight swell of Yoongi’s ass.
“Not that I'm not enjoying myself,” he says, keeping his voice sure and steady. “But I thought you were gonna show me how you and Jimin do this.”
At this, Yoongi snorts and steps out of his loose embrace. Jimin, of course, is already waiting for him.
There is no foreplay to it, no careful angling of noses. They kiss like two people who have been doing it quite a lot, as though they were experts on each other’s lips and, this time, Namjoon does not make himself look away.
Jimin bites at Yoongi’s lower lip, gives it a little tug, and Yoongi lets out something that is not quite a moan but more than just a breath.
They kiss with a certain sense of moderation. Not as though fearing that all of it will be used up too quickly if they do not pace themselves, but as though they know that they have all the time in the world.
There is no desperate gasping for air, no violent thrusting of tongues, no ripping off each other’s clothes. There are Yoongi’s hands, though, roaming up and down Jimin’s sides, and Jimin’s eyelids fluttering as he exhales through his nose.
Suddenly Namjoon finds himself struck by the thought that he'd really like to kiss Jimin.
He won’t, though, not without permission. Just because Jimin is cool with watching Yoongi make out with Namjoon doesn't mean it will be the other way around. And Namjoon doesn't want to assume, but he wouldn't be surprised if Yoongi were the possessive type.
Eventually, Jimin pulls back, looking from Yoongi to Namjoon and back again.
“Should we move this to the bedroom?” he asks plainly and there’s a literal threshold that they are about to pass.
Up till now, there had been a plausible deniability about it all. An easily dismissed narrative of got drunk, made out, forgot about it. People do that. Friends do that.
“Fine by me,” Yoongi says casually, as though they were just trying to agree on where to get takeout, and Namjoon swallows.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little rough. “Yeah.”
Jimin’s smile then is something wicked, like the cat got the cream and the canary, but he doesn’t say anything more, just pivots and marches toward the bedroom. The door stands ajar and he pushes it open with his shoulder, turning his back against the wood so he can look at Yoongi and Namjoon. Everything about him is vibrant, radiant. Resistance is futile.
Yoongi follows easily, habitually. Namjoon ducks his head as though the door frame were a little too low, the house itself too small. Just a guest, he reminds himself. You don’t belong here.
He’s been in this room before, though. Jimin and Yoongi had given him a tour of the apartment when they had first moved in last summer. There’s a closet covering the entirety of the right hand wall, doubtlessly overflowing with designer clothes and threadbare t-shirts. A shelf with favorite books, photo albums, random mementos. And a king-sized bed, covered in plush pillows and petrol-colored sheets.
Namjoon finds himself rooted to the spot, unsure what to do next.
Gangnam is bright, even now, and Yoongi decisively draws the curtains shut and the room is bathed in darkness. They live in a gated community, but it still wouldn't do for someone to happen to be looking into their window right now. A moment later, Yoongi switches on the bedside-table lamp and Namjoon has to blink against the golden light.
There's an armchair standing by the wardrobe, clothes haphazardly thrown over it, but Jimin tosses everything onto the floor with little care. Then he grabs Namjoon by the elbows and maneuvers him over, pushing him down onto the cushioned seat.
“There,” he says, giving a pleased nod before stepping away with a sashay. Namjoon's allows his gaze to linger on his ass.
Yoongi, in the meanwhile, has sat down on the edge of the mattress, welcoming Jimin with open arms. They kiss again, with more urgency than before, and then Yoongi pushes his hands up underneath Jimin's shirt. From where he is sitting, Namjoon can see the gradual exposure of Jimin's back, the soft dip of his spine.
Nudity is nothing new for them. Back in the beginning, when they had tried to save time and water, they had often showered together, not to mention that sharing a bedroom with six other boys was bound to lead to some awkward situations. But it's not like Namjoon had ever paid close attention.
Now, though, he does.
Namjoon has come a long way from the teenager who tried to wear masculinity like an armor that only ended up hurting him. He feels comfortable wearing skirts every now and then, or letting his hair grow out. He doesn't mind being called sensitive. He knows sexuality is fluid and a spectrum, he doesn't much care for labels, even if he has never actively questioned his own sexuality before.
But, yeah, he's thought about it. He thought about it when he first caught a twenty-year-old Jimin looking at Yoongi for a little too long, and he thought about it when they were grinding against each other after that impromptu lap dance at the Shilla Hotel.
Because, the truth is, Yoongi and Jimin look good. They are both a little vertically challenged, but they have fine features and nice bodies, and that could be left as nothing but a plain observation. But all objectiveness goes out of the window as soon as they are juxtaposed with each other.
They undress without hurry. Yoongi drags his Henley over his head and Namjoon bites the inside of his cheek at the sight. He’s been with women before who’d had tiny stars traipsing along their ribs, lyrics written on their collarbones. Yet Yoongi’s tattoos are so much more elaborate than that, reaching from his wrists all the way up to his shoulders, the phoenix taking up half of his chest. In the dark, the other shapes are nearly indistinct, but Namjoon still thinks he can see the barn owl that he knows symbolizes him.
Namjoon won’t deny that he had been stupidly pleased to find that that Yoongi had chosen to commemorate Bangtan in such a manner. To literally wear his heart on his sleeve.
As soon as they are completely naked, Yoongi and Jimin fluidly switch positions, with Yoongi kneeling on the floor and Jimin perched on the edge of the bed. He’s got one leg thrown over Yoongi’s shoulder, one hand in his hair, the other braced against the mattress. He drags Yoongi in, unselfconscious, undaunted, and Yoongi follows his prompting without complaint. Namjoon cannot help but hold his breath.
In front of him, Yoongi dives between Jimin’s thighs as though it were second nature to him, his long fingers digging into the muscle as Jimin’s instinctively clenches his legs around his head.
“Ah,” Jimin only says, eyes falling shut, head falling back, and then he is just enjoying himself, lost in the moment. From this angle, Namjoon cannot see much but, judging by the noises, he’d bet that Yoongi makes heavy use of his tongue – and the piercing in it.
It’s different from his ferocity on stage, though. In his raps, Yoongi drags and disses and impresses. Here, he worships.
He must have grabbed a bottle of lube when Namjoon wasn’t looking, because now there is the click of the lid and then Yoongi is squeezing some onto his fingers and spreading it, all the while keeping his mouth on Jimin, his head bobbing as his licks and laps and sucks.
Namjoon cannot quite see it but, when Jimin’s breath hitches and his abs contract, he can tell that Yoongi must have pushed his fingers inside him. The angle looks a bit awkward, a bit uncomfortable, but neither of the two seems to mind, Yoongi’s bent elbow moving back and forth as he opens up Jimin with the ease of habit.
And he knows these are two of his best friends going at it right in front of him, but when Jimin arches his back and moans, he cannot resist any longer, just leans back in the armchair and hastily unbuttons his jeans, unceremoniously shoving his fingers underneath the waistband of his underwear and firmly gripping his erection.
Finally, Yoongi pulls back and wipes the back of his clean hand across his mouth.
“Good?” he asks Jimin, his voice rough and low, and Namjoon wonders whether he always talks like this when they fuck or whether he only does it when he has just given head. He wonders whether Jimin would sound the same.
Jimin just nods his head, his brow slightly creased and then he is moving backward on the bed, spreading his legs wide while Yoongi takes the time to roll on a condom. For a heart-stopping moment, Namjoon is treated to the absolutely obscene sight of Jimin’s hole empty and twitching.
Then Yoongi is there again, one hand on Jimin’s knee, the other on his own cock, holding himself steady as he slowly pushes inside. In a futile attempt of imitation, Namjoon makes a circle with his fingers and draws it over the length of his erection, loosening his hold and then tightening it again.
On the bed, Yoongi holds his position for a moment. Then he pulls out, only to thrust back in right away, the momentum making Jimin jolt on the mattress.
“Come ‘ere,” Jimin murmurs, looking up at Yoongi with low-lidded eyes. His ankle hooks itself over Yoongi’s hip, reeling him in, and Yoongi falls into his embrace.
Namjoon spreads his legs wider, plants his feet firmly on the floor and roughly works his palm along his length until his breath is coming quicker and his pulse is racing in his veins.
In front of him, they fuck close together, missionary, with Jimin's leg hitched up high. Jimin’s got his head thrown back and Yoongi has to crane his neck a little to press a kiss to his chin.
Idly, Namjoon wonders whether Jimin fucks Yoongi, too, whether they’ll switch halfway through.
The thought makes him clench his hand around the base of his cock to keep his own pleasure at bay. The two have barely started yet and he wants to see them in full action before he allows himself to come. Otherwise, it might be a little like watching porn after orgasm – slightly awkward, a bit cringy, and with a certain aftertaste of guilt.
He moans quietly, rubs his thumb across the head, spreading the precum. On the bed, Jimin lets his head loll to the side and he smiles, breathless, when he catches Namjoon’s gaze.
Namjoon has always had the reputation of being the pervert of the group, the guy who watched too much porn and was a little too well informed on certain fetishes. But half of that was the thirst for knowledge, the hope to better understand.
Jimin, on the other hand, was the one who was truly wicked. Namjoon doesn’t know whether to be surprised, but he certainly isn’t about to complain.
And that could be it. A dark room, a quick show, a hand down his pants, something they would laugh about and fondly remember a few years down the road. But it was never meant to be this easy.
With a cut-off groan, Yoongi comes, his hips insistently pushing forward, before slowly stuttering to a halt.
He pulls out, pulls a grimace, pulls off the condom and throws in into the conveniently situated trash can next to the bedside table, before rubbing a wrist across his brow, messing up his sweat-damp fringe.
Jimin, however, is still caught in the midst of arousal, his thighs quivering slightly as he pushes himself up onto his hands. He whispers something in Yoongi's ear, too low for Namjoon to hear, and Yoongi stills for a moment, contemplative. Namjoon's breath catches in anticipation.
When Yoongi gives a nod, quick and perfunctory, Jimin pecks him on the cheek. Then Yoongi moves aside and up along the bed, fluffing up a pillow and leaning against the headboard, just like one might settle in before watching some Netflix.
It doesn't come as a surprise then. But, when Jimin reaches out a hand for him, Namjoon doesn't mean to stand up, doesn't mean to walk over and take off his shirt and sit down on the mattress. He doesn't mean to run a hand over Jimin's damp flank and feel the muscles jump underneath his touch.
But he does mean to kiss him, slow and deep and dirty, with his face held between his hands.
The sound Jimin makes is more of a mewl, high in his throat, and Namjoon swallows it, devours it, asks for more. He doesn’t remember the last time a first kiss got him riled up so quickly, though he doesn’t think he’s ever watched two people fuck beforehand, so perhaps that plays a part in it.
Then, as abruptly as it started, it ends and Jimin pulls his head back to look at him.
“I want to blow you,” he says, without preamble, without fanfare, without foreplay, and the breath goes out of Namjoon in a rush.
He just nods, for once speechless, pushing his pants down just far enough to free his cock. The relative cold of the room is a shock against his heated skin, so he gives himself a few firm strokes.
Usually, Namjoon is more careful than this, preferring to put on a condom, even when most women complain about the taste of latex. But, he thinks, this time he can get away with a little recklessness. Because whom can he trust if not his friends?
“Alright,” he mutters simply, his own voice sounding foreign in his ears, and he puts a hand to Jimin’s jaw, gently guiding him forward. Jimin opens up willingly, his lips easily parting as Namjoon pushes his cock inside. He really does have the perfect mouth for this.
Jimin barely gives Namjoon any time to just revel in the sudden heat, before he is already sucking enthusiastically, splaying his fingers on Namjoon’s hip bones as his head moves back and forth.
Namjoon stutters out a laugh, tilting his face toward the ceiling. Absurdly, he marvels at how Yoongi surely must have an iron will if he manages to resist the temptation of getting his dick sucked like this all the time; so far, Jimin’s voice had never been wrecked before they had to record or perform anywhere.
Suddenly, Yoongi is there again and he goes back to fingering Jimin from behind, pushing deep while simultaneously reaching around to grasp Jimin’s cock. Jimin won't last long like this, Namjoon thinks, but Jimin wriggles and whines low in his throat, and still doesn't come, and that's when Namjoon understands that Yoongi is not actually working Jimin but rather staving off his orgasm.
“That's it,” Yoongi murmurs lowly, eyes locked on where his fingers are disappearing inside of Jimin. “You're doing so well.”
Jimin whimpers and, all at once, Namjoon is reminded of how Jimin had always liked to be praised, how he shamelessly begged for it, no matter the occasion. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that, even now, he is looking for approval, for someone to tell him how beautiful he is.
“You can fuck his mouth,” Yoongi says in that moment, his gaze flicking up to meet Namjoon's startled one. “He can take it. Just go slow.”
Namjoon swallows hard, but Jimin's hands are already falling away, clenching in the sheets instead. Very carefully, Namjoon rolls his hips, letting his cock slide deeper into Jimin’s throat.
“Fuck,” he groans quietly. Jimin’s jaw is completely slack, saliva running down his chin in thin rivulets, and it should be gross, but it’s not, it’s the hottest thing Namjoon has ever seen.
“You do this a lot, huh?” he asks, knowing full well that he won’t get an answer. “You let hyung fuck your mouth till you can’t speak anymore?”
There are tears caught at the corners of Jimin’s eyes, his lips stretched wide around the girth of Namjoon’s cock. He exhales harshly through his nose and it makes his throat flutter around the glans. Namjoon just keep thrusting in shallowly, concentrating on the feeling of Jimin’s tongue working against the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock.
“You look fucking beautiful,” Namjoon tells him, running a thumb over Jimin’s cheekbone. “Shit, I don’t think anyone’s ever sucked me off like this.”
Since their contracts had loosened enough to permit them to date, openly or otherwise, Namjoon had not exactly held himself back when it came to widening his horizons a little. He was careful with whom he picked, whether it be for one-night-stands or something that could almost be called a long-term relationship. He chose women who saw more in him than just his fame and he, in turn, treated them with respect. It still comes as a bit of a surprise that he is now being given the blowjob of his life by Jimin of all people.
He thinks it and jinxes it because, suddenly, Jimin pulls away. He coughs a little, takes a moment to catch his breath, and Namjoon almost fears he's been too rough with him, but then Jimin turns his eyes on him and the look in them is still hungry.
“Fuck me,” he says. “Please.”
Jimin does not look to Yoongi for permission, but Namjoon does, irrationally, instinctively.
“Shit,” Yoongi says, taking his own hands off Jimin and scrambling back. “Shit, yeah. I wanna see you make him cum.”
His satoori is so thick it’s barely intelligible in Namjoon’s ears, but he also does not clarify whom he is talking to. Both of them, perhaps. Namjoon swallows hard.
“Turn around,” he tells Jimin, smacking a palm onto Jimin’s ass cheek. The sound of it is much louder than anticipated, and Jimin gives a small squeal of laughter, before letting himself be manhandled so his backside is properly turned toward Namjoon.
“Here,” Yoongi says, reaching over to grab another condom and tossing it to Namjoon. Namjoon catches it with better hand-to-eye coordination that he has ever had before in his life, and then he tears the wrapping open with surprisingly steady fingers.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Jimin urges under his breath, pushing his ass back against Namjoon’s crotch.
Namjoon swats at him, leans away so he can actually get the condom on himself, and then he just rubs his cock along the cleft of Jimin’s ass. Jimin’s ass has always looked great inside of tight pants. It looks better bare and begging for attention.
Namjoon takes himself in hand and, just like that, the impatient excitement dies down again, and a calm comes over them. Yoongi is sprawled on top of the pillows, front row seat, and Namjoon nudges a knee between Jimin’s thighs, knocking them farther apart.
The head of Namjoon’s cock is resting against Jimin’s entrance and there is something decadent about that moment of having but not yet indulging, and Namjoon allows himself to revel in it. He runs a palm all the way up along Jimin’s spine, settling on the back of his neck to hold him steady. Then he slams inside.
Jimin’s jerks in surprise, a slightly belated moan following, but he doesn’t get a chance to catch his breath, because Namjoon is taking him hard and fast, at odds with the leisured pace Yoongi had set before.
So Namjoon digs his fingertips into Jimin's hips, each movement of his hips slapping audibly against the flesh of Jimin's ass. Jimin gives a tiny grunt with each impact, the sounds jumping out of his chest almost involuntarily.
Like this, they are both looking at Yoongi who is looking back. In the dark of the room, his eyes are all black.
The tables have turned and now it is Yoongi who is watching them in desire, working himself with slow unhurried strokes. His face is relaxed, but his tongue darts out to lick across his lips, the barbell of his piercing a quicksilver flash that draws Namjoon’s eye.
“Grab his hair,” Yoongi instructs him. “He likes that.”
His voice sounds flat, but forcefully so, like it does after particularly demanding performances, and Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, just sinks his fingers into Jimin’s soft hair and wretches his head back at a sharp angle.
Jimin keens in response, a moan that’s half a laugh, and his ass tightens around Namjoon, nearly sending him over the edge right then and there.
By now, Yoongi has propped up his left leg and is working two fingers into himself. It’s a terribly vulnerable position, terribly indecent, and Namjoon’s gaze follows his every move.
“Namjoon-ah-ah,” Jimin stutters out, the last syllable tripping off his tongue with the force of the thrusts. Then he comes, his arms buckling beneath him, falling face-first onto the mattress.
Namjoon bows above him, fucking him through it, Jimin’s muscles spasming around him. He feels the telltale heat gather in his gut, the tension of it, like the rubber band of a slingshot being pulled taut.
When it snaps loose, when he finds his release after half an hour of what was more torture than plain teasing, he thinks he whites out for a moment.
Jimin is still down when Namjoon’s vision clears again, back shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but Yoongi is idly cleaning his own cum off his hands with a tissue.
It’s a gargantuan effort, but Namjoon pulls out and away, wiping a hand over his mouth, his damp face. He's breathing hard, and he's struggling to think of the last time sex had ever worn him out like this.
It's more than just the physical strain, though. There are the heightened emotions of doing this with two friends, and the mental contortions of just having had a very gay threesome.
But, God, this was a good decision.
With weak limbs, Jimin crawls out of his reach and collapses into Yoongi's arms instead, tucking his head in underneath Yoongi's cheek, sighing happily when he gets a small kiss in reward. Yoongi plucks another tissue from the box on the bedside table, wiping the cum from Jimin’s stomach, and then the two curve around each other as though this were a night like any other.
Suddenly, Namjoon feels a little cold. Before, being an outsider had been alright. Now, he has been let in, only to find himself separated from them once more. Perhaps he should have expected this the moment Jimin held out a hand to lure him in.
He pulls off the condom and tucks himself back inside his underwear, doing up his zipper and the button of his jeans. Maybe he should get dressed again and just bail, but that is sure to make things awkward between them. Maybe-
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Yoongi complains in that moment. His mouth is half-buried in Jimin's hair, but his eyes are on Namjoon. “We literally just fucked. You think a post-coital cuddle is too much to ask for?”
“I dunno,” Namjoon hums, trying to sound nonchalant, though a weight has been lifted off his chest. “You look quite comfy there.”
“Just get over here, you big idiot,” Yoongi says, vaguely kicking a leg in his direction, and so Namjoon scoots over to lie next to them, the bed more than big enough.
Immediately, one of Jimin's hands crawls into his hair, twisting loose strands around his fingers.
“So,” Namjoon says, still out of breath and staring up at the ceiling, contemplating the decisions in his life that had led him to this very moment. “You do this kinda thing regularly?”
“Not really,” Yoongi drawls. “Why, you wanna go again?”